


A Mistaken Invitation

by corrielle



Category: Robin Hood (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrielle/pseuds/corrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their own ill-fated wedding, Guy and Marian are invited to attend the wedding of a friend. Unfortunately, this friend never heard that the Gisborne wedding was never concluded and thinks that Guy and Marian are married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mistaken Invitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inabsentialuci](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=inabsentialuci).



> This was written for the 2010 Secret Santa challenge at the GuyxMarian livejournal community.

Someone with a gauntleted fist was banging on the front door of Knighton Manor, and in Marian’s experience, such heavily armed visitors coming to call so near to the dinner hour did not bode well. She opened the door to find Guy of Gisborne looming just outside with his fist resting against the lintel. On the road, six soldiers in Gisborne’s black and yellow waited, their mounts stamping impatiently.

“My father is not at home, Sir Guy,” Marian said. She had been careful to give him the _Sir_ since that day at the church.

“It’s you I need to speak with,” Guy said. He waited for a moment, and when it became obvious she was not going to invite him in, he continued. “The Sheriff demands that I tell you to pack for three day’s journey. I leave tomorrow an hour after sunrise, and I’ll be expecting you at the castle.”

“And if I refuse to go on this journey because I do not know its end or its purpose, and because I do not care for the company, what then?”

Guy’s smile was not kind, and Marian immediately regretted letting her resolve to show him respect slip.

“If you are not at the castle when I am ready, then I will come here and wait until you are, and I will not be happy to have added miles onto our trip. Knighton is out of my way.”

“You could at least tell me where we are going,” Marian said.

Guy shook his head. “I could, but I don’t think I will.”

Marian bit back an angry response. She was keenly aware of her father’s absence, and of the sharp undercurrents in Guy’s calm, smooth voice. “Then tell me what I need to bring, how I need to dress. I wish to be prepared, wherever we are going.”

“A fair question,” Guy said. “Pack for court.”

Before she could ask him whose court or protest that she wanted no part in whatever game he and she Sheriff were playing at, Guy had turned his back on her without so much as a farewell and was striding toward his men.

Marian arrived early at the castle the next morning. Her father and Robin had both spoken vehemently against the idea of her going. Her father had suggested she feign illness, and Robin had offered to waylay Gisborne on his way to Knighton, but Marian had insisted that they allow her to go. Gisborne and the Sheriff were planning something, and she somehow played an important part. What better way to find out what the scheme was than for her to go along with what they asked?

As soon as Guy’s men were mounted and Marian’s chests loaded onto the carriage, they rode north from Nottingham with the sun barely a hand’s breadth above the horizon. Guy rode at the front of their little party for the first few hours, leaving Marian alone in the carriage. Once, a few miles out of the city, she thought she saw a flash of green and brown at the side of the road that might have been Robin, or perhaps Will Scarlett, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

They stopped just before noon to rest the horses, and when they made ready to move again, Guy climbed into the seat across from her and pulled the curtains closed as the carriage made a rumbling start.

“You should know where it is we’re going,” Guy said after a moment.

“Now that we’re far enough away that I can’t refuse or run back?” Marian said acidly.

“Exactly,” Guy said. What disturbed her most is that he did not say it meanly. He was simply being honest. And… was it her imagination, or did Guy seem uncomfortable? He took  
great pains not to look at her, which was a difficult feat in a small carriage with curtained windows.

“We are going to a wedding,” he said at last.

“And you couldn’t tell me this yesterday?” Marian asked, keeping her face smooth. No wonder Gisborne looked as if he wished to be anywhere but where he was! “May I ask whose wedding?”

“Do you remember Sir Thomas of Greenbrook?” Guy asked.

“I do,” she said. She remembered a tall, sun-darkened knight with shaggy brown hair and a kind face. He had come to Nottingham the year before, stayed for a week, and had not been back since.

“He has found himself a bride and invited me to come and celebrate with him,” Guy said.

“I was… not aware that your relationship with Sir Thomas was such a close one,” Marian said carefully.

“We spoke at length several times while he was here, and by the time he left, he did me the honor of calling me friend…” Guy grimaced a little, and Marian thought she knew why, considering that business with Lambert and the black powder. Guy didn’t have _friends,_ and anyone who thought otherwise was in for a harsh lesson concerning Guy of Gisborne’s priorities.

“Well, I wish Sir Thomas much joy in his marriage, and I am glad for your sake that you will get to see your friend again, but… why am I here?” Marian asked.

Guy closed his eyes and massaged the ridge of his forehead just above his nose.  
“The invitation requested my presence… and my new wife’s.”

Silenced hung uncomfortably between them for a long while before Marian managed a small “Oh…”

“Thomas was invited to _our_ wedding, but he could not come,” Guy explained. “He sent me his congratulations and four silver plates for our table.”

“And he hasn’t heard…” Marian added.

“It seems not.”

“Ah. Then why didn’t you just write to him explaining the situation? Or come to the wedding without me?”

Guy’s eyes snapped open, and he glared at her, which, while less awkward than speaking to someone who was pretending she wasn’t there, was uncomfortable in its own way.

“Do you think I wouldn’t rather have done either of those things? The Sheriff insisted,” Guy said.

“But… _why?_ What interest could he have in whether or not Sir Thomas thinks we’re married?”

“First, if Thomas, or any of the others who didn’t come to the wedding, find out that we did not go through with the marriage, they might start asking about what happened to the wedding gifts they sent, and that would lighten the Sheriff’s coffers.”

“You mean… the Sheriff took…” Marian caught herself before she could say ‘our,’ “ _the_ wedding presents for himself?”

“He pointed out that I wouldn’t be needing them, and it seemed unwise for me to argue with him.”

“And second?” Marian asked.

“Thomas may not have a lot of land or wealth, but when he speaks, other men listen. Men whom the Sheriff wishes to have on his side.”

Marian felt a jolt of pure fury at being used so, but she pushed it down. Yelling at Guy would not improve her situation. “Let me make sure I understand you,” she said slowly. “We are to pretend to be married, thus deceiving a good man who calls you friend because the Sheriff is greedy and politically ambitious?”

“I said it wasn’t my idea,” Guy growled at her.

“And you think that makes it better?” Marian asked, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

Guy had no reply for that, and instead knocked twice on the front wall of the carriage. After a moment, it slowed and came to a halt.

“We will be at Greenbrook in time for dinner,” Guy said. “I thought you might like to use the rest of our journey to prepare yourself.”

“Prepare myself for what?” Marian asked.

“Oh, the usual things women worry about… what you’ll wear, how you’ll fix your hair, how you’ll answer people when they ask you how you like being married…” The carriage door opened from the outside, and Guy stepped down onto solid ground.

Not for the first time, Marian wished that a well-aimed kick to the back of Guy’s head were an option. He was baiting her, and both of them knew it. Two could play at that game, though.

“And what will _you_ tell people?” she asked innocently. The almost imperceptible stiffening of his spine and tightening of his shoulders told her she had hit a nerve.

“If asked how I like married life, I will say that it agrees with me. If asked how I like my new wife… I will say she could not make me happier.”

Guy shut the door to the carriage firmly without turning to look at her, and a moment later she heard his voice calling for his soldiers to get moving and be quick about it.

Greenbrook was a sprawling country manor, and by the time Guy, Marian and their escort arrived, light shone from every window and from the lanterns hung at the gate. It was a cheery sight, Marian had to admit. Guy’s soldiers quickly joined the other armsmen who were eating at tables set up in the courtyard, and Marian watched the servants carry their luggage away with only a bit of regret that she would not have time to change before dinner. It had been a long ride, and the smells coming from the hall were delicious.

Dinner, as it turned out, was an informal affair. Squires and knights and nobles from the surrounding area sat at long tables with no thought for proper place or order, and people laughed and talked over the two mandolin players seated at the back of the room. It was a welcome change from Nottingham, and Marian found herself relaxing as Guy guided her towards two empty spots. At the head table, Sir Thomas saw them enter and called out a welcome to Guy, which was picked up by several of his companions. Guy waved and nodded in return, and he also bowed slightly to a tall woman with pale blonde hair caught up in a golden net who was sitting next to Sir Thomas.

“The bride to be, I assume?” Marian asked as she sat down next to Guy.

“I believe so,” Guy said. “In his letter, Thomas said her name was Vivian. I would imagine you’ll be meeting her tomorrow.”

As the night went on and the candles on the table burned down, the wine and beer flowed freely, and the stories of past campaigns and feats of courage that Marian heard being told all around her got more and more outlandish. Still, she had to laugh when the portly fellow to her left began to reenact a heroic charge of his using a fork to stand in for his sword and an empty saucer for his shield.

Guy, for his part, drank only a little, and excused himself while most of the guests were still in the hall. Marian felt awkward being left alone at first, and she had resolved to have words with Guy about it when two giggling women near her own age descended upon her. It turned out that they were the Lady Vivian’s sisters, and they were very curious about the lady who had come all the way from Nottingham. Before the night was done, she had met every young lady in the room, including Vivian, and one of her sisters had invited Marian to spend the next day, which would be the day before the wedding, with the bride and her friends.

By the time she found a servant to show her the way to her room, Marian was exhausted. She had been awake since the early hours of the morning, and she had lost count of how many times the ladies of Greenbrook had insisted she have another cup of wine.

At first, she was surprised to find Guy stretched out on the bed that took up most of their small room in the guest quarters.

“You expected they would give us separate rooms?” he asked. “We are, after all, married, and Greenbrook does not have so many rooms that they have space to spare.”

“I… had not thought of that,” Marian said.

“Truthfully, nor had I until I came upstairs and found your things here.” He waved his hand at the two chests stacked at the foot of the bed.

“You will agree this is an awkward situation?” Marian asked. She could not take her eyes off of the expanse of the bed. It was large enough, she supposed, for two people to sleep without touching one another, but the thought of sleeping in the same bed with him made her distinctly uncomfortable for many reasons, some of which she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Awkward, yes,” Guy said, “but… you need fear no unwanted advances from me.”

Marian pursed her lips. Was her worry _that_ obvious?

“Besides,” Guy continued, “I guessed that you wouldn’t want to share a bed with me…”  
Marian breathed a sigh of relief. That Guy was going to offer her the bed was certainly a surprise, given his past rudeness, but she had always suspected that he had the capacity to behave like a…

“And so you may sleep on the floor. I’ve put a pillow and a blanket on the rug on the other side of the bed.”

“The floor.” Marian said flatly.

“I suppose we could unstack your chests and you could sleep on those, but I thought the rug might be more comfortable,” Guy said.

“If the bed is not an option, I suppose that you are right,” Marian said, and she threw open the lid of the top chest and began trying to find her nightgown.

Guy favored her with a mocking half-smile, and Marian gritted her teeth and continued searching.

“There is no reason for you to be upset with me,” Guy said as she finally found the long white garment and lifted it from the chest.

“Turn your back while I change,” Marian said. He did not deserve a ‘please’ if he was forcing her to sleep on the floor.

Guy did as she asked, but she heard him chuckle. “As I was saying, Sir Thomas’ invitation was meant for me, and so the bed is mine by right, and if I had a wife, it would be hers by right as well. But, as you gave up your claim to that title _and_ the privileges that come with it…” he shrugged. “You have no claim here. Unless, of course, you wish to ask me for a place on _my_ bed…” he turned and looked over his shoulder just as she pulled the laces taut at the collar of her gown.

Marian glared at him, grabbed her comb from the top of her chest, and slammed the lid shut.

“I do not,” she assured him. She stalked around the bed and lowered herself to the floor, pulling the heavy quilt up around her chin. At least Guy seemed to have given her the warmest blanket from the bed.

“I didn’t expect you would,” he said, and blew out the candle.

When Marian woke at around ten the next morning, she was in the bed, and she was alone. Vaguely, she remembered Guy waking her when the sun was still wan and pale and helping her get into the bed, just in case a servant walked in and wondered why Lady Gisborne was sleeping on the floor.

She dressed quickly and went down to the hall to see if she could find a late breakfast. Most of the men at Greenbrook seemed to have made themselves scarce, but many of the ladies she had met the night before were sitting at one of the tables, and they beckoned her to join them. There was hot bread for breakfast, still steaming from the kitchens, as well as fresh butter, jam, and a sharp yellow cheese.

She ate hungrily for a while before asking, “My husband neglected to tell me where he was going this morning… I don’t suppose he’s in the same place all of the other gentlemen are?”

“Hunting. Greenbrook is rich with game,” Vivian said proudly, “and if the men manage to shoot true, we’ll have fresh pheasant tonight.”

When they had finished eating, the ladies arranged themselves in Vivian’s sitting room, reading, working on embroidery and exclaiming over the bridal dress and linens. Marian let the talk wash over her. Candace, Vivian’s older sister, had a frank disposition and a warm smile, and she was very glad that her younger sister was making such a good match. Desiree, the younger sister, seemed a bit flighty at first, but Marian saw the hints of a quick tongue and a good mind amidst all of her excited fluttering over her older sister.

“I was so glad to hear that you were coming, Lady Marian,” Vivian said during a lull in the conversation. “My Thomas spoke well of your husband after his visit to Nottingham.”

Marian chose her words carefully. She had not spoken much up until now, and she reminded herself that the less complicated of a lie she wove, the easier it would be for her to remember it.

“I am sad to say that I do not recall much of his visit,” she said. “But now that I am here, I am glad for the chance to know both of you better. You are… truly fortunate. Sir Thomas seems to be a kind, generous man.”

Vivian smiled warmly. “He is, and I am thankful for it.”

“And not to mention handsome,” Candace said with a wink. “Kind and generous is all well enough, but sometimes those things are paired with old and bald.”

Several of the other ladies laughed, including Vivian.

“You’ll have to excuse our sister, Lady Marian,” Desiree said with a loud, conspiratorial whisper. “Candace’s husband, who is excellent in every other regard, is starting to lose his hair on the front of his head, and he didn’t have a lot of it to start with.”

Candace gave her little sister such a horrified look of mock affrontedness that Marian had to laugh.

“Your husband, though, Lady Marian,” Desiree said, “he is very handsome.”

Several of the other women murmured agreement, and Marian could feel her face coloring. She knew that the proper response was a graceful acknowledgement of the compliment, but the words would not come.

“I’d be at a loss for words too, if my George were that fine looking,” Candace said at last, and everyone laughed.

“Oh, stop it, Candace,” Vivian chided gently, seeing Marian’s discomfort. “Don’t embarrass our guest.”

“I’m fine, really,” Marian said. “I… suppose that because I see him often, I am not so struck by him as I might be.”

“I knew a man like that once,” one of the other ladies offered. Marian thought her name might have been Margaret. “The first time I saw him, I thought he was an angel from a church window, but when he started coming around every day seeking out my favor and trying to pay court to me… I couldn’t wait to see the back of him!”

“If I recall correctly,” Vivian said blandly, “the back of him _was_ his finest feature.”

Marian laughed unreservedly at that, and decided that even if Guy had dragged her a day’s journey north of home and left without a word, he had at least left her in good company.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Desiree played the lute, and Margaret read to them from a book of poetry she had tucked into her pocket, and Vivian told stories about herself and Thomas when they were children.

“You have known him for most of your life, then?” Marian asked after one of them.

“Oh yes, and loved him for most of it too. Our parents were friends, and we grew up together.”

Something tightened in Marian’s chest, and she pushed away memories of climbing trees in Locksley with Robin and running, laughing, through fields of uncut wheat. In a way, the boy in those memories was as much an illusion as the chivalrous façade Guy had tried so hard to present to her.

“Were you and Sir Guy childhood sweethearts as well?” Desiree asked.

“No…” Marian scrambled to gather her thoughts. “Guy is… relatively new to Nottingham, but I believe that he thought highly of me from the beginning.” There. Not a word that wasn’t true.

“Listen…” Vivian said, putting her hand out for silence, “I think the hunters have returned.” Marian didn’t hear anything, but all of the ladies gathered at the windows, and sure enough, a group of riders was making good time toward the manor. The women clustered around the window shouted greetings and waved to the men as they passed through the gate that opened onto the manor grounds.

“Your husband rides well,” Candace said.

“Yes… he is… quite accomplished,” Marian agreed.

Candace smirked. “You know… they say that a man who’s a fine rider when it comes to horses is a fine ride when…”

Desiree, who was close enough to hear, tried to swallow a high-pitched giggle without much success, and Vivian gave her older sister a stern look.

“ _Must_ you, Candace?”

“My apologies if I’ve shocked you, Lady Marian,” Candace said. “A wedding coming… tends to loosen my tongue.”

Desiree stood on her tip-toes and whispered in Marian’s ear, “Weddings aren’t the only thing that does… it’s also feast days, and too-strong wine, and sometimes wakes.” She giggled, and Marian laughed with her.

The men were still coming down the lane that led to the manor, and Marian found Guy in the crowd. For a moment, she tried to see him as a stranger might, as these women who did not know him did. She saw a tall, serious man with dark hair and pale skin who sat a horse well. She noted an aquiline nose, long, well-shaped legs, and strong hands with a light, firm hold on the reigns. A familiar warmth that she had _not_ felt when thinking about Guy for quite some time spread through her body, and when he looked up at the window, found her staring at him, and raised a hand in greeting, she almost jumped and turned away before remembering that as far as her companions were concerned, she had every right to stare, and every reason to be warmed by his return.

At dinner, the table was graced with a large quantity of succulent roast pheasant, and Marian had to admire the speed with which Greenbrook’s kitchen worked. She sat with the ladies, who took up half of the long head table while the men took up the other. Guy was sitting on the opposite side, nearly as far away from Marian as it was possible for him to be, but the few times she caught a glimpse of him, he appeared to be… happy. The men were boisterously recounting the hunt, and once or twice, she thought she saw Guy cut in, adding his own memories to the story, and when Candace’s husband George, roaring with laughter at one of his own jokes, clapped Guy on the back, Guy simply smiled and returned the gesture. It was odd. The Guy she knew should have been offended, or at the very least uncomfortable with such familiarity.

The hall emptied earlier than it had the night before. The morning would bring preparations for the wedding, and there would be feasting far into the night after the ceremony. When Marian got up to leave, Guy followed suit and met her at the door that led to the stairway. He offered her his arm, and because people were watching, she took it without hesitation.

“I had hoped I would have a chance to speak to you before we retired for the night,” Guy said as they climbed the stairs.

“Well, you have it now,” Marian said, peering at him curiously. He sounded nervous more than anything else, and whatever else he had felt, he had not been nervous around her since she had broken off their engagement.

“I… hope that you had a pleasant day. I did not know that Sir Thomas liked to ride so far afield when he hunted.”

“Don’t worry. I enjoyed myself. Vivian and her ladies are wonderful and lively. And you? You seem to have come back quite friendly with Sir Thomas and his men.”

They reached the room they shared, and Guy lifted the latch.

“They’re good men,” Guy said. “They did what they could to make me feel welcome.”

Marian walked in ahead of him, went to the side of the bed, and picked up the pillows that she planned to use that night. She was about to toss them on the floor when Guy said, “Wait.”

“Did you want this one?” Marian asked, holding out one of the pillows to him.

He shook his head. “You should take the bed.”

Marian was about to ask him what had changed his mind, but he was in the act of stripping off his coat and shirt and putting on his night shirt. She only saw a brief flash of skin, but it was enough to tell her that Guy was well-muscled under all of that black leather. She busied herself with looking through her trunk so he wouldn’t see her blush.

Guy stripped one of the thinner blankets from the bed and dropped it beside his coat and one of the extra pillows. “I should have offered you the bed last night,” he said. “It was ill-mannered of me not to.” Seeing that she had her nightgown in her hands, he turned his face to the wall without being asked.

“I don’t think that there is a proper etiquette in place for people in our situation,” Marian said wryly. Gooseflesh spread across her skin as she quickly shed her skirts and her bodice and slipped into her nightgown. She got in bed and pulled the covers over herself before reaching out and tapping him on the shoulder. “You can turn around now, I’m dressed.”

“I suppose that if we had followed proper etiquette, there wouldn’t have been any need for this deception in the first place,” Guy said.

“If you are trying to blame me for what happened in that church…” Marian had spoken the words before she had time to think, and she immediately wished she could take them back. She had violated their unspoken agreement not to speak of their broken engagement directly, leaving him free to do the same.

“You are the one who left,” Guy said. “And who gave me this.” He pointed to the corner of his eye where the mark her ring had left was still visible.

“And you are the one who lied to me,” Marian shot back. “I came to the church ready to do what I had promised until I found out you had lied about King Richard’s return. If you would lie to me to get me to the altar, what other lies might I have expected?”

“I believed in Richard’s return as much as you did when it was announced,” Guy told her. “I had no part in bringing in the imposter.”

“But you knew about it before we were to be married,” she reminded him. “And you did nothing.”

Guy sat down on the corner of the bed and rested his forehead in his palm.

“I didn’t think it would make a difference,” he said.

“Did you think that I had made King Richard’s return a condition for our engagement on a whim? Did you assume, without asking, I might add, that I had changed my mind?” Marian was propping herself up on her elbows now, as lying flat on her back did not seem like a very advantageous position in the midst of an argument.

“I assumed nothing,” Guy said through gritted teeth. “I had reason to believe that you were looking forward to our wedding, and I did not want to disappoint you.”

“And what reason did I ever give you to believe that?” Marian demanded.

“Not you. It was your father telling me you were in bed, faint with excitement over our upcoming marriage when I came to see you.”

Marian’s breath caught in her throat. “My father told you that?”

Guy raised his head and turned to look at her. “When I found out what the Sheriff was planning, that the Richard who would come to Nottingham was not the true king, I rode out to Knighton. I… planned to get you alone and tell you, swear you to secrecy so that the Sheriff would have no reason to harm you.”

“And… you were going to cancel the wedding?” she asked.

“I suspected you would insist on it once you learned the truth.”

“And yet you came all the way to Knighton to tell me anyway…”

“But you were indisposed when I arrived, and I nearly told your father, but then, he said that you were _looking forward_ to it so much that the excitement sent you to your bed. And since you had agreed to our engagement so reluctantly, the thought that you might actually _want_ to marry me…” He laughed ruefully and shook his head. “I could not tell him the truth.”

“I did not know that,” Marian murmured. “I… I wish I had.” She held her breath, waiting for Guy to ask the obvious question—where had she been if not in bed sick with anticipation—but he simply gave her a sad half-smile.

“I wish you had as well,” he said.

There was really nothing to say to that, and when she did not reply, he lowered himself to the floor and stretched out between the bed and the wall.

Much later, when Guy’s breathing had become deep and even, Marian looked over the edge of the bed at the man sleeping on the floor. Guy lay on his stomach with his arms curled around his pillow, and Marian had to fight the sudden urge to brush his dark hair out of his face. She sternly kept herself from looking at him again as she leaned over to blow out the candle on the table with a decisive puff of air.

The sky was a bright, crisp blue on the morning of the wedding, and all of Greenbrook hummed with anticipation. Marian dressed in her room while Guy was down at breakfast, and though she was trying to keep out of the way, Desiree found her in the corridor after she had finished getting ready.

“Your dress is lovely, Marian, but you _must_ borrow my necklace,” Desiree exclaimed. “It’s just the right shade, and I think that we can talk Margaret into letting you borrow a bit of lace to go at the neck…”

Marian allowed herself to be guided to where the other women were getting ready, and she spent the next hour fussing with buttons and hair and clasps on jewelry. When all was ready, she had to admit, the borrowed necklace of blue glass beads really was pretty, and the dozen hairpins Candace had threaded through her curls were holding her hair in place quite nicely.

She had left her best shoes in at the bottom of one of her chests, and with little more than an hour left before the wedding, Marian rushed back to her room and threw open the door without knocking. Guy, who was standing over the bed in nothing but a pair of breeches, turned sharply, and his hand went instinctively to his side.

Marian’s mouth went a little dry. She had seen men without their shirts on before… working in the fields or at forges, but this was different. This was Guy, and he was half naked and less than three feet from her.

“I forgot my shoes,” Marian said, finding it odd that she felt the need to explain what she was doing in a room that was supposed to be half hers.

Guy relaxed, and Marian closed the door behind her and knelt next to her chest. For the first time, she noticed the clothes laid out on the bed as Guy reached for a black shirt and started to put it on.

“This is… what you’re wearing?” Marian asked.

“Yes,” Guy said, a little guardedly. “Do you think it’s wrong?”

Marian stood up, shoes in hand, and sighed. “It is… a lot of black. Black breeches, black coat, black shirt…”

“All well made…” Guy protested, and Marian put a calming hand on his arm.

“That’s not the point,” she said. She wanted to laugh, but he would have taken it as an insult. “Guy… when one attends a wedding, one usually wears… color. We’re celebrating a marriage, not a funeral. Most people find it to be a festive occasion, and as such they wear… bright things.”

He looked as if he was considering what she said so earnestly that she had to laugh, and she hoped he would see that it was kind laughter, not cruel. “Of course… I had forgotten. You’d never been to a wedding before…”

“I still haven’t,” Guy said abruptly, and all of the mirth drained from Marian’s face.

She sighed and glanced over at the wardrobe where their finer clothes were stored. “Did you bring anything that’s _not_ black?”

“I don’t have any other coats,” he said.

She was quick to assure him. “That’s all right. What about shirts? Breeches?”

Guy opened the doors to the wardrobe and took out a pair of smoky grey breeches.

“Still dark, but not black. It’s an improvement,” Marian said. She reached past him and pulled out a dark blue shirt. “This is… a color.” She tried very hard to keep the surprise out of her voice. “I think you should wear it. Then, we’ll both be in blue, and we’ll make a fine couple when we stand together.”

“And that is important?” Guy asked.

“It is something married people sometimes do.”

He seemed to accept her explanation without question, and Marian went out into the hall to wait for him while he changed. He did not take long, and when he came out of the room to join her, he looked down at himself, and then up at her.

“Well?” he asked.

“You look… very nice. The color favors you, and it brings out the blue in your eyes.” She had not meant to say that second bit, and she clamped her mouth shut before she could give voice to the thought about how nicely his grey breeches hugged his legs.

Guy smiled then, and it was not the arrogant smile of a man who knew exactly what he was doing to a woman. Marian almost wished it was. She knew exactly how to handle confident, obnoxious Guy.

“Thank you,” he said, and his smile widened a little. “And you… you are beautiful today.”

He had complimented her a thousand times before, but today, she felt color rise in her cheeks.

“You are very kind to say so,” Marian said quietly, and she busied herself with straightening his collar so she would not have to meet his eyes. He stood very straight while she smoothed the front of his coat, and when she was done, she reached out and tucked an errant bit of hair behind his ear. He flinched when she touched his face, but when she tried to take her hand away, he held it there with his own.

They stood there for the space of several heartbeats, and Marian’s breath sounded ragged in her own ears. Slowly, Guy lifted his other hand to stroke her cheek, and he was smiling that peculiar, gentle smile again.

Then, the bells in Greenbrook’s chapel started ringing. Marian started, and Guy stepped back suddenly.

“The bells ring to call the guests to church,” Marian said. “We should hurry.”

Guy nodded and offered her his arm, which she took without a word.

Garlands of late summer flowers were hung all over the chapel, and Marian drank in the heady scent and the lush blues and reds and purples. Guy knelt at her side while the priest said mass for Sir Thomas and Lady Vivian, and though she could sense him tensing next to her when Thomas slipped his ring onto the bride’s finger, Guy still gave her his hand to help her up when the guests stood to congratulate the new couple.

The guests stepped out of the chapel and into a flurry of flower petals flung into the air by the manor staff and local villagers, and Marian refrained from telling Guy for quite some time that a tiny white flower had come to rest in his hair just above his left eye. It was still there when they sat down to eat at the tables that had been set out in the courtyard, and it was only when the sun went down and they filed into the great hall for dancing that Marian brushed it away.

There was still more food inside, candied fruit and sweetmeats and cakes and sweet summer wine. It seemed to Marian that the kitchens had prepared enough to feed a small army, but the wedding guests were still eating and dancing with relish.

Marian danced first with the other women, leaving Guy at the tables still working on his first cup of wine. Then, she danced with Sir Thomas’ younger brother, Vivian’s uncle, and an angelically pretty blonde fellow who made eyes at Desiree the entire time.

At the end of a particularly quick reel, Marian poured herself another drink and sank down into the chair next to Guy. She took a long swallow, and seeing him raise an eyebrow at her, said, “What? Dancing is thirsty work, and you would know that if you hadn’t been sitting here like a dour old man all evening.”

“As a rule, I do not dance,” Guy said firmly.

“But you know how,” Marian said. “I’ve seen you… back home.” She suddenly became aware that while they were not exactly under scrutiny, there were still many curious eyes on the two strangers from Nottingham.

“You must dance with me. People will think it strange if you don’t,” Marian whispered.

“There are many men who are not dancing,” Guy pointed out. “I am not so strange.”

“Yes, but you are younger than all of them by twenty years, maybe more. I do not see one man anywhere near your age, married or not, who is able and not dancing. That makes you seem peculiar, which makes _me_ seem peculiar, which might lead to questions I’d rather not be asked.”

“I am a poor dancer, and it brings me no pleasure,” Guy grumbled. “Surely there must be married men with pretty wives who feel the same.”

“I highly doubt that,” Marin said, exasperated. “But if you will not do it to keep up appearances, do it for me. As a favor for a friend.”

He turned his head sharply at that. “Are we friends again, Marian?” he asked quietly.

“I believe we can be,” she said. She stood and held out her hand. “Now, come, the couples are lining up and the dance is starting.”

Despite what Guy claimed, he was not exactly a poor dancer. He knew the forms, and he performed them with the precision, and the stiffness, of a soldier. Even when he held her fingers in his own, or put his hands on her waist to lift her, his face was tight with concentration and his eyes were cool.

They danced the next three rounds, and Guy found more wine for her, and for himself. Marian knew her face was flushed with drink and exertion, but when Guy asked her if she would like to sit, she shook her head and took both of his hands in hers as the music started up again. It was a fast, light-footed tune this time, and when Guy pressed his palm against her side as they spun around, he looked down at her and smiled. Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps it was the general merriment of the occasion, but his smile so pleased her that she laughed and quickly kissed him on the cheek. Guy’s eyes widened, and he missed a step, but he got back in time soon enough that his faltering was barely noticeable.

She did not have to beg him to dance any more after that.

It was hours past midnight when the musicians put away their instruments and the last guests filtered out of the hall. Guy held a candle out in front of them as they made their way through the corridors and back to their room.

“You enjoyed yourself,” Marian said. “Admit it.”

“I enjoyed the company, and I like seeing you happy,” Guy said.

Marian nodded, and then she stumbled on the last step of the staircase they were climbing.

“Marian… are you drunk?” Guy asked. She thought that he was teasing her, but she could not see his face well enough to be sure. She righted herself using him for balance and shook her head.

“I am most certainly _not_. I switched from wine to water hours ago.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Guy said. “I didn’t think you’d enjoy nursing a headache tomorrow morning.”

She did not _feel_ drunk, at least. She had been drunk before, and she remembered that everything around her had been hazy and indistinct, as if all of her senses had lost their sharpness. She felt exactly the opposite. She was keenly aware of the cold air on her warm skin, of the dusky orange shadows cast by the candle, and of the dark, soft cloth of Guy’s coat under her fingers.

The clouds that had started rolling in around dusk made good on their promise of rain while the two of them made ready for bed. When Guy began to make his bed on the floor, Marian said, “Wait.”

Guy stopped what he was doing, but he said nothing, which left Marian in the awkward position of having to explain herself.

“Guy… this is silly. It is cold and raining, and I know from experience that one rug doesn’t do much to break the cold of the stone floor.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asked.

“The bed is very large. There is more than enough room for both of us,” she said, as if it were the most rational thing in the world.

Still standing, Guy leaned against the bedpost and looked down at her, his eyebrows drawn together in consideration.

“You would trust me enough to share a bed with me?” he asked. He sounded as if he didn’t believe her.

“I would. I believe that you care for me, and for our friendship, and so I trust you even more than I would most men.”

Guy lowered his eyes, and for a moment, she thought he was going to refuse her offer and sleep on the floor, but then he nodded and said, “You’d best move over, then.”

The bed was large, but not so large that Guy was not still within arm’s reach. He had lain down as far from her as possible, but if Marian stretched, she could run her fingers down his back, and when the candle was out, she was plagued with the impish urge to do just that. Guy of Gisborne was not often surprised, and it would be satisfying to be the one making _him_ jump for a change.

Cautiously, she reached out and traced the curve of his spine with one finger. He jerked awake and caught her wrist in a strong grip, yanking her over to the other side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Marian swallowed hard. “I’m sorry…”

“That’s an apology, not an answer.” He didn’t loosen his hold on her wrist.

“I… wondered if it would wake you,” she said.

“And now you know.” He let her go and lay back down. “Please… don’t do that again.” For Guy, that was practically begging.

“I said I was sorry.”

“Go to sleep, Marian.”

She lay back down on her side of the bed and shivered. The sheets were like ice. She tried to keep from shaking, but the more she tried, more she shook. It was colder than it had been on any night since they had arrived, and there was still no fire in their room. No one had expected the rain, it seemed.

She was still trying to ignore the cold when Guy’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, and he whispered in her ear, “You said you trusted me…”

“I do,” she told him.

“That’s good.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him so that her back was pressed against his chest. He was very warm, and the heat of him quickly chased away the cold.

“I wouldn’t have been able to sleep with you shivering next to me,” he said. His breath was warm on her neck, and she shivered for an entirely different reason.

“So… this is for your convenience, not mine?” she asked, twisting her head to look at him.

“Of course I did not wish for you to be cold when I could so easily warm you,” he assured her.

She settled back against him, and he draped one arm over her and wrapped his fingers around her shoulder. She closed her eyes and willed herself to go to sleep. She was warm, she was safe, and the man who was sleeping next to her had assured her time and time again that he was no threat to her honor. However, that terribly, wonderfully awake feeling from before was back, and every time he so much as breathed, it sent exquisitely acute sensations through her whole body. Guy shifted against her and moved his fingers to her neck, and Marian gasped.

“What is it?” Guy asked.

“You weren’t asleep!” Marian said.

“I nearly was...”

Whatever Guy had been about to say was lost when Marian turned in his arms and kissed him. He kissed her eagerly at first, but then he pulled back sharply.

“Are you testing me?” he asked. His voice was rough, and even in the dim light she could see the anger in his eyes.

“No! I’m… it’s not a test,” Marian said.

What it _was,_ exactly, she didn’t know. Before, when they had been betrothed, she had done her best to quash her curiosity and her attraction, and countered them with the constant reminder that he had forced her hand, that she had not chosen him of her own free will. She had reminded herself that whatever feelings he might stir in her would always be tainted by a bitter beginning. But what she was feeling now had not been forced on her.

Guy lay back against the headboard and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea how cruel you are?” he asked.

“I do not mean to be.” Marian drew her knees up under her body straightened her back.

“Then go back to your side of the bed, and leave me alone unless you intend to act as my wife in private as well.” Though he was not yelling, it was a tone of voice she had heard him use with his soldiers, and Marian bristled.

“If I were really your wife, I would hope that you would refrain from ordering me around like one of your armsmen,” she said.

“If you were really my wife, I would still be kissing you, and neither of us would still be completely dressed.”

Marian didn’t move, and she was trying to blink away the images that came with his description with no success when Guy kissed her again. His lips were hot and insistent against her, and she didn’t understand how, but he had gathered her into his arms with her head resting on his shoulder and one of her arms around his neck.

He was breathing hard when he pulled away, and he stroked the side of her face gently, as if he thought she might break at the slightest touch.

“Tell me no,” he whispered. “Say it now, and I will find somewhere else to sleep. The floor, the barracks… We can tell people we fought…”

“And if I don’t tell you no?” Marian asked. She ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he shuddered.

“Then I will bed you, and hope that you do not regret it.”

Hearing him say it so frankly sent a thrill through her, and she responded by kissing his neck just below his jaw line. His muscles tensed under her touch, and he moaned.

“I will not,” she promised, “and if I do, I will not blame you for it.”

This seemed to serve as the permission Guy had been waiting for, and his hands were on her body, searching and insistent. He found the laces and the collar of her nightgown and untied the simple knot. Without the laces, her collar gaped open, and Guy pushed it off of her shoulders. Her gown fell down around her waist. The shock of the cold air on her breasts made her gasp, and her nipples hardened into little peaks.

Guy eased her down onto her back, lay down on his side next to her, and covered one breast with his hand. She pressed herself against his warmth, and he pulled the covers over both of them. He ran his hands over her stomach, her breasts, her arms, and she grasped at the hem of his night shirt and pulled it over his head. He looked surprised that she had undressed him, and she shrugged at him.

“I am not the only one who has long been curious about what is… usually hidden under clothing.”

Guy laughed deep in his throat. “Well then… let me satisfy your curiosity.”

He took one of her hands and put it on his chest, directly over his heart. She could feel his heartbeat racing under her palm, and she let her hand slide down to his hard stomach and around to his back.

When his hand began to move up the inside of her leg, she gasped again. She was wearing nothing under her nightgown, his hands were warm and covered in rough calluses, and the way they felt sliding across her thigh made her jump and clap her legs together, catching Guy’s hand between them. He sat up and untangled her hand from his hair.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“You startled me. That’s all,” she said, and let her legs go limp again.

Startled did not even begin to describe her reaction when his hand found the hair between her legs, or when his fingers began to stroke the slick, wet heat of her. She felt as if she were a bowstring being pulled taut to the point of breaking, and when he slipped two of his fingers inside her, she cried out. It did not hurt, exactly, but she felt her body tighten around him.

He put both arms around her and kissed her for a long while after that, until she began to lose herself in the sensation of his lips on her mouth, her neck, her shoulders. The place between her legs where he had touched her began to ache, and when she thrust her hips against his leg, he groaned.

Roughly, he grabbed her hand and pushed it down between his legs. He was hard, and she knew enough to understand what that meant, what was to happen, but still, she closed her eyes and tried to still the nervous fluttering in her stomach. Steadying her hand, she touched him, and she had the pleasure of seeing _his_ back arch and watching _his_ pulse throb in his throat above her.

Guy crushed her to him after that, and his hand found its way between her legs again, rubbing and probing and thrusting, and when he took his hand away, she whimpered at the loss of it for a moment before she felt him between her thighs. He braced himself with one arm against the bed, and with the other, he reached down to stroke the side of her face with such tenderness that she wondered how she could ever have thought him incapable of it. With his thumb still tracing the line of her jaw, he kissed her, and she arched her back and cried out as he entered her.

She had expected pain. The conversations she had overheard had led her to think that going to a man’s bed for the first time nearly always left the woman in tears. This was… not pain. Not exactly. There was resistance, her body tensing and tightening as he pushed inside of her, but he stroked the back of her neck and caressed her breast and the side of her leg.

“Remember to breathe,” he whispered.

She took a deep shuddering breath, and that seemed to help.

He thrust inside of her with short, controlled movements, each stroke brushing against something that felt so good that every time he touched it, she wanted to scream.

She ran her fingers over his back, now slick with sweat, and instinctively angled her hips up to meet him. He groaned her name in her ear as she took all of him in, and any semblance of control he had disappeared. She knew she should have been afraid, but she was not. There was nothing but his hands in her hair, his hips knocking against hers hard enough to bruise, and the length of him inside her.

She moved beneath him, arching her back to take her own pleasure, and this seemed to please him. He thrust faster, and something within her snapped. All of the tautness that had been building since the first moment he kissed her gave way at once, and the force of it nearly swept her away. She dug her nails into his back and buried her face in his shoulder, and a few heartbeats later, he threw his head back and thrust one last time inside of her. She felt the pulse of him as he came, and when he fell down, spent, beside her, she pulled the covers up around them both and stretched out against his side.

She woke with her head resting on Guy’s shoulder and his hand covering the curve of her hip. It was still raining outside, but the quality of the light told her that it was late morning. She began to search under the covers for her nightgown, and Guy stirred when she shifted.

“Marian…” he murmured into her hair.

“I’m here, Guy. But it’s past time we were both up and dressed.” Her stomach growled, and she noticed for the first time how ravenously hungry she was. She hoped that they had not woken too late for breakfast.

Out of habit, she turned away while Guy dressed, and he did the same for her. Neither of them spoke of what had passed between them the night before, but before they left their room, Guy took her hand, kissed the back of it, and released it without saying a word.

It seemed that most of the wedding guests were moving slowly that morning. There were only a few people scattered throughout the hall, none of whom looked familiar, so Guy and Marian found food and a quiet spot against the wall.

“Will we leave for home today?” Marian asked when they were seated.

“I had thought we would leave tomorrow, but the rain will have made the roads slow going. It may take us the better part of two days to get back to Nottingham,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of traveling in this weather, but I like the idea of being back later than expected even less. It would be best if we were gone before noon.”

“The Sheriff?” Marian asked, not even bothering to keep the derision out of her voice.

“He is not a patient man,” Guy said, as if she didn’t already know it.

“Very well. If we are leaving this morning, I would like to say goodbye to Sir Thomas and Lady Vivian,” Marian said.

“There will be time enough for that. I’m not proposing that we leave immediately.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Marian said. “I… regret having to go so soon.”

“As do I,” Guy said.

When word got around that the Lady Marian was preparing to depart, several of the women showed up at her room to help her pack her things. Guy made himself scarce while they were with her, but when the last lady had filed out of their room, he stepped inside and asked, “Is that everything?”

Having made sure that everything was in its proper place, Marian closed the lid to her smaller traveling chest. “I believe so.”

“That’s good. The carriage is waiting in the courtyard, and my men are ready to leave.” He put his hand out to push open the door, but then he let it fall.

“Before we go, I would like to know how things stand between us,” he said. “Yesterday, you said that we were friends, but since then… Things have changed.”

Marian approached him carefully and took one of his hands in hers. “That has not changed. I made a promise, did I not? We are… still friends.”

“Nothing more, then?” He smiled at her, but she could see the disappointment on his face.

“No, Guy. I won’t agree to marry you this instant because… because of what we did.” She knew she should have been ashamed to give that answer, especially when she knew that Guy would have been happy to marry her before they left, but it was too much, and too soon.

“But in time, you might?” he asked.

It was an honest question, and she gave him an honest answer.

“Yes, I might.”

That seemed to be enough for him. He kissed her softly on the cheek, opened the door, and let her go through first before making sure it shut firmly behind them.


End file.
